When she woke up again, it was already dark outside.
There was no light inside the room either, and Du Yunluo, who had cried herself to sleep, rubbed her blurry eyes.
Her wrist was held, and squinting, Du Yunluo could see Mu Lianxiao's face close by, slightly enlarged as he gently kissed her eyes.
"Yunluo..." Mu Lianxiao's voice was deep yet extremely gentle.
Du Yunluo was slightly startled, still a bit dazed.
While she was asleep, Mu Lianxiao held Du Yunluo and thought a lot.
The dream that Du Yunluo described was like a grand play, being performed repeatedly on the stage with drums and gongs.
But Mu Lianxiao was not merely a spectator; he appeared on stage too, until he died at the Northern Border in the 25th year of Yong'an.
The scenes that followed were all Du Yunluo's alone.
He seemed to witness every single day of those fifty years.
She went through all sorts of ordeals, self-blame, but the green lamp and old Buddha ultimately couldn't bring peace to the heart.
